


Graduale Simplex

by borrowedphrases



Category: Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger, Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basco finds a strange broken disc and unlocks something incredibly powerful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Libera Me

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the end of OOO. The first chapter takes place after Gokaiger 23, and then barrels off into AU-land from there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Deliver me._

  


He'd found the thing in Cairo, sitting on some street vendor's table amidst worthless trinkets and knock-off valuables. Its two pieces caught the sun's rays, sparkling like neatly faceted garnets, rimmed in gold. Shattered as it was no one seemed interested in it, hands passing over it like a broken toy, but Basco knew better than most that sometimes treasure came in pieces. Sometimes assembly was most certainly required.

The merchant seemed ecstatic to part with it, letting the privateer haggle him down to a fraction of what Basco assessed it was worth. It was almost worrisome, like the merchant was doing himself a favor by simply getting rid of the thing. Basco wouldn't dwell, he had his prize, and without having to cause a scene by stealing it.

When the pieces of the disc were pressed into his palm, Basco nearly jumped. There was power here, he could feel the electric lick of it against his skin. The merchant drew his own hand back like he'd been stung, but Basco simply smiled sweetly and closed his fingers tightly around his prize.

 

The _Free Joker_ hummed beneath his feet, the dull vibration of the strain of maintaining orbit. Basco barely noticed it anymore. How long had he been stuck here, skulking in the shadows on the night side of the planet? Backwater didn't even come close to describing this rock. Its system barely warranted a mention on even the most complete star charts. Truly, it was the perfect hiding place for the Greatest Treasure, he just wished he didn't have so much competition.

Another failed attempt at snatching power from Marvelous' hands, another subtlety mocking post battle phone call from that damned Damarasu. Basco was frustrated, more than frustrated, he was angry. Enraged. Overwhelmingly _pissed off_. At Marvelous and his crew, at Zangyack and their lazy idiocy. At himself for failing, once again, at taking Marvelous down. So many failures now, and too few victories. He can't remember the last time he felt truly satisfied. The last time he felt properly fulfilled.

Sally knew enough to stay out of her master's way when he was in a mood like this, knew to head for the bridge rather than follow him to his quarters. It was comforting, in some small way, to hear only his own steady footfalls as he made his way through the empty corridors of his ship, the steady click of boot against metal echoing dully off the walls. Sometimes, rarely, he misses the warmth of the Galleon, but mostly he takes comfort in the knowledge that his ship is as fast, if not faster, than most ships in the Zangyack fleet.

The door to his room slides shut behind him, and Basco grabs the closest irreplaceable object he can find - a vase from some long dead and Zangyack assimilated world - and hurls it at the nearest wall. He stands still for a long span of moments, his knuckles going white from how hard he's clenching his fists. His whole body trembles, little shocks of rage surging out from his chest, reaching all the way to the tips of his digits. If it were possible for his species to spontaneously burst into flames, now would be the perfect time. Nothing was going as planned, nothing was working out in his favor. Basco wasn't used to losing; he was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted. At whatever cost.

Gradually his rage begins to lessen, his fists carefully uncurl, his shoulders slowly relax. He draws in a slow breath through his nose, letting it out as a heavy sigh through his mouth. His fingers kneed gently at his temples and, oh, there's the headache he's been dreading.

"Damn," Basco moves across his room, to the hardwood cabinet where he keeps his private stock of liquor from various worlds. The cabinet itself is a treasure, dark wood stained a sinful red, carved in the shape of fanciful monsters and sensual women. The doors inlaid with abstract stained glass. He runs his fingers over the glass for a moment, letting himself be calmed in ways only his possessions can soothe him. The crystal bottles inside are nearly as extravagant as the cabinet, and it takes him at least a full minute to select something; a clear strong liquor that tastes nothing like the rich rum Marvelous always preferred. He pours a glass, then opts to take the bottle with him as he moves to sit at the wide dining table that most often served as his desk.

Basco kicks his boots up on the table, crossing them at the ankle, and leans back slightly in his chair as he savors the first few sips of his drink. There would always be a tomorrow for him, there would always be more opportunities for him to shine above all others. It was best not to dwell on these things all night, best to get a good amount of sleep and not charge blindly into the next battle on a poor night's rest.

Basco loses himself in his thoughts of more pleasant matters, old memories of previous adventures, of lovers lost and won and lost again. He's well into his third drink when a glint of ruby catches his eye, reflecting some unknown source of light, possibly creating its very own light from within. Basco sets his chair down on all four legs again, and turns, leaning forward across his table to pick up the pieces of the little red disc. He feels that hum of power tickle at his fingers again, like the tiniest heartbeat, slow and unsteady.

"Where did you come from?" Basco voice is soft, a gentle coaxing whisper. "And what are you for?"

He turns the pieces over in his hands, glides the pad of his thumb over the pattern etched into the disc's surface. He's exhausted almost all his resources trying to learn anything about this strange little trinket. The _Free Joker's_ computer has access to nearly all of Zangyack's archives, and quite a few that still existed outside of Zangyack's control. There was no record of anything like this tucked away in there. He'd tried Earth's limited resources as well, and still come up empty. The best he could figure was that it was a coin of some sort, but that didn't explain the power he felt every time he held it, the certainty he somehow had that this was something much more important than mere currency.

Basco brings the pieces together, always pleased to see that they make up a complete whole, no fragments lost to whatever sad journey the disc had been on. Its surface glints faintly, despite the lights in the room being set to dim. He tilts it, studying the symbol carved into it again. He's had no luck finding meaning for the mark either, other than it obviously representing some kind of bird. The sparse mythological searches he's done on the meaning of birds in Earth's history have also been lacking, just a lot of religious nonsense and superstitious garbage.

He lets the whole disc sit in his open palm. It's heavier than its small size would suggest, and that's yet another search that's come up empty for him: what exactly the disc is made out of. It's not gemstone, despite his early assumptions, and he can find no metallic substances on Earth or beyond that match the disc's color, weight, or richness.

"What do you need?" Basco sighs, folding his hand around the pieces. He holds his closed hand up against his ear and shuts his eyes, remembering the first time he did this, how shocked he was to hear the disc's faint song. There's no discernible melody or rhythm, no words ringing faintly through the air. But its still there, and as sure as Basco is aware of the breath that fills his own lungs, of the blood that steadily courses through his body. He knows that it sings.

And that its song is one of purest agony and sadness.

 

Basco's favoring the rum today, confident in his skills once more. He refuses to let Marvelous get under his skin. He won't let that happen ever again. The fresh Captain may irritate him and amuse him and drive him completely insane, but Basco refuses to let him past his carefully crafted inner walls. Refuses to let him break down his necessary mental shields. Basco simply has to try harder, simply needs to be faster and smarter than Marvelous and his little band of misfits and rejects.

He sits hunched over his desk, cleaning his trumpet before he makes his planned modifications, the upgrades that would certainly tip the metaphorical scales in his favor. He hums to himself as he works. Tuneless and soft, a lack of melody that's been stuck in his head for days, not that he's been aware of it. He never thinks of it when it happens, when the gentle non-rhythm vibrates in his throat. It's only when he tries to dwell on it that the notes slip away, that the sound becomes lost again.

As he hums he sets his trumpet down, pleased with his work, both the cleaning and the tweaking. He wipes his dry brow on the back of his hand - the gesture reflexive and entirely unnecessary - and smiles, proud of himself.

A glint of carnelian almost catches his eye, but he's learned to ignore it. Though it's not so much ignoring anymore as it is coexistence. Basco's given up searching for the meaning of the disc in ancient texts and by modern means, and he's simply learned to wait. To wait and to trust that the disc's secrets will reveal themselves all in good time. He can be very patient when he wants to be.

Basco reaches into one of his many well concealed pockets, grabbing a handful of the Ranger Keys he still has in his possession. He counts them, then lays them out on the table in a neat little row. So few now that Marvelous seized a good portion of his collection. So what if Basco gave them freely at first? He had expect something in exchange, not to be robbed completely of any sort of compensation.

"Damn him," Basco pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, sighing into his palm. When he thinks about Marvelous he feels that old headache threatening to return. The one that was frustration born and defeat fed. He takes a few even breaths, trying to calm himself and prevent the pulse behind his eyes from turning into a proper throbbing.

It's only when he hears a soft clinking sound that he looks up from his palm, his eyes drawn like a moth to the gentle light reflecting from the disc. He squints at it, because, no, there's no way it's moving on its own. No way that it's trembling on the table without provocation. But the ship is flying steady, with no change in altitude to make it shudder and no attack to make it shake. And Basco's barely moved, hasn't bumped the table or even leaned back in his chair. As he stares he sees it tremble, and then he watches it move proper, the two halves gravitating toward one another like lustful magnets. The complete disc turns on its side and spins, slow and graceful, and then it rolls toward him. Or rather, toward the Ranger Keys laid out before him. It stops right between his trumpet and the keys, standing upright on its side, and goes still, the shattered bird facing him, and still shining by some light source that's all its own.

"What do you need?" Basco whispers softly, like his breath might be enough to break whatever spell has come over the room. Like exhaling will topple the possessed trinket and ruin his chances at ever learning its secrets.

He feels a surge of something, but it's not the ship, it's something else, something not as simple to define as the hum of a ship. Basco's jaw drops slightly when the disc actually shimmers. It's faint, and if he hadn't been starring he might not have noticed it at all, but it's there. And then - and Basco has to blink a few times to make sure the rum isn't playing tricks on his mind - and then the crack starts to mend itself, the break in the two halves begins to seal.

The desk shudders beneath Basco's hands, and he grips it a little harder, trying to keep it from shaking, though that seems an impossible task. Everything else on the desk has remained still until this point, but now, as the disc finishes repairing itself, the Ranger Keys begin to tremble. Begin to slide across the table toward the disc.

Basco grabs them before they can make it, feeling a bit like an over protective mother, or a jealous lover. He deeply, on some incredibly visceral level, does not want to give up his keys to this strange entity. It's this movement that makes the light in the disc fade, makes it fall over onto its side.

Basco lets out a long slow breath, and reaches across the table, picking the disc up gingerly between four fingers, his pinky extended. He holds it up to the overhead light, his ship's light, and smiles, finally understanding.

"You want power."


	2. Ave Verum Corpus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hail, true body._

  


_Heat:  
Steady warmth enveloping.  
Familiar safety;_

 _home._

 

Basco has almost forgotten about Marvelous and his crew, has little time for chasing after aging war veterans and ghosts and childish dreams. He's not given up on the Greatest Treasure, oh no, far from it. Instead he's following his gut and looking into new means to obtain the object of his desire. Let the little pirates chase after all the pieces, let them assemble the puzzle, for now, in the end Basco will be the one to collect the prize.

A gentle knock at his door draws his attention away from his work; pouring over books and magazines and old news papers he's collected. The ship's computer is set to searching Earth's digital archives, beeping softly to alert him whenever a series of keywords are found together. His desk is a mess, a controlled chaos that only he can properly make sense of. In the middle of it all sits the disc, now whole, glinting faintly still from its own inner light. Basco's begun to notice a pattern to the shimmer, an almost steady pulsing, at least when it's not behaving more erratically, or the light isn't gone completely.

Those are the saddest moments. Moments when Basco can hardly feel any of the subtle power against his palm. When he can barely hear the disc's tuneless song.

There's another knock and Basco jumps a little this time, blinking at himself and how easily he lost himself to his thoughts. He's also holding the disc now, clutched tight and protectively in the circle of his palm. He almost had it to his ear again before he was woken from his little trance.

"Come in, Sally," Basco calls softly as he sets the disc down on his book, the door sliding open at his voice. The monkey enters, carrying a tray and walking carefully so as not to spill its contents. He smiles at her and takes the mug off the tray. There are a few loose tea leaves at the bottom, and he pours water from the hot kettle Sally also brought him. Steam rises from the cup, tickling at his nose. When he breathes in deep he is bombarded with memory, the blend of leaves one of the few remaining treasures from his homeworld. It's not an unpleasant rush of memory, and this tea has always been able to sooth him. His pet must be worried about him to bring him this particular drink.

He's mid-sip when Sally reaches out a hand, her stubby fingers outstretched toward the disc. Basco grabs her wrist before she can reach it, hard, twisting her arm until she yelps in pain.

"How dare you!" Basco's voice is a roar, frantic and shrill. He gives Sally's arm a rough shake, prompting another pained sound from her. "How dare you try to touch my things! What if you'd broken it, you stupid, clumsy, _filthy_ little creature."

Sally makes a pathetic little plaintive sound and hangs her head in apology, her arm going limp in her master's grip. Basco feels his rage drain away as suddenly as it came, and he sighs, releasing Sally's arm in favor of gently pattering her on the head.

"Thank you for the tea. It was sweet of you to think of it." His voice is soft again, and he smiles, pleased when Sally stops pouting so miserably. He adds a bit more water to his mug before handing the tray and the kettle back to her. "Now be a good girl and go finish your chores, I won't be needing anything else for the night."

Basco watches Sally as she leaves the room, waiting for his door to close and lock before he turns back to his work. He's lost the drive for research, and he frowns down at his book with a defeated sigh. The disc shimmers up at him from the page, and he offers it a weary little half smile, picking it up and turning it over between his fingers. He leans back in his chair, kicking his boots up on the table and leaning back in his chair.

He sips at his tea, holding each mouthful on his tongue until the roof of his mouth starts to tingle. Once against he finds himself holding the disc up against his ear, his fingers curled protectively around it. He sighs, and closes his eyes as that faint song echoes in his mind.

"Who are you?"

 

 _Gentle beat.  
Pressing, pulsing, probing.  
Suffocating?_

 

"This is unacceptable."

"Good morning to you too, old man." Basco yawns loudly into his Mobirates, making it extra long and exaggerated to emphasize just how much he hates being woken unexpectedly. He rubs at one eye with a loosely closed fist, feeling less grumpy than he probably should.

"It's late afternoon."

Deadpan, with a note of slight irritation. Basco can work with this. He glances over at his view screen window, seeing the planet below still cloaked in night, with just a hint of this system's sun peaking around the horizon.

"Not on my side of the planet," Basco sits up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and sighing, long and loud. He yawns again, this one real, and moves to scratch at his faintly stubbled jaw. When he opens his hand something fall from it, landing heavily on his bare chest. He blinks down, and the disc glints up at him. Odd, he doesn't remember falling asleep with it in his hand. "What do you want? I'm a very busy man, you know."

"You haven't attempted the theft of any Grand Powers recently. Why?"

Basco rolls his eyes, as if Damarasu can see him right now. "I've been busy."

"We had a deal."

"You don't think I know that?" Basco's properly grumpy now, and he shows it by snapping at the voice on the other end, sneering for no one's benefit but his own. He picks the disc up off his chest, gripping it carefully between his middle finger and thumb, and holds it up so it catches the light from his bedside. "I'm working on something."

"Something?"

"Just trust me," Basco growls feeling a slight headache starting to grow behind his eyes, made worse with each pulse of his heart. "It's going to be big. But now you need to leave me the hell alone."

Basco shuts his Mobirates without letting Damarasu get another word in, and flings it to the end of his bed, groaning and thumping his head back against his the headboard. He holds the disc up again, and despite his mood he finds himself smiling, slow and even.

"It's going to be huge."

 

 _Ennui breaking.  
Enemy._

 _eternity._

 

Basco figured the old training room, left over from the _Free Joker's_ former life as a Zangyack cadets ship, would be best for his purposes. There was plenty of open space, and no furnishing or valuables to be destroyed if things went poorly; he would be truly distressed if any of his precious treasures were needlessly ruined.

"Sally," Basco stops before opening the door to the room, giving his faithful pet a little pat on the head. "Wait out here for me, okay? If you hear me call for you, don't hesitate to enter, but otherwise I don't want you disturbing me."

Sally gives a soft coo, reaching for Basco's hand before he can pull it away and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Basco's smiles, returning the squeeze before letting go. "There's my good girl."

He locks the door after it closes. "Lights."

The room is dingy, to say the least, covered in a thick layer of dust. None of the old training equipment remains, having been long removed by the time the ship came into Basco's possession. There's a hollowness to the space, and the walls faintly echo its previous use; nicks and gashes from swords, scattered dark stains that might have been blood, and an ever darker stain from where a gun must have misfired.

Basco hums thoughtfully before moving to the center of the room. He hesitantly gets on one knee, taking a handkerchief from his pocket so he clear a circle in the dust. After clearing another spot for him to sit without dirtying anymore of his clothes, he removes the disc from his pocket. It hums softly in his hand, and he closes his fingers around it, feeling a lick of power against his palm.

"Let's see if we can't wake you up." Basco's voice is a reverent whisper, like he's attending a holy ceremony. He indulges himself one last time in holding the disc up to his ear, trying to memorize its song in case he never hears it again.

Finally he sets the disc down where he cleaned the dust away, sitting down cross-legged in front of it. His Ranger Keys are next, and he arranges them in a neat little circle around the disc. Finally he takes his trumpet out, tapping his fingers against it thoughtfully.

The last time he didn't need to do anything, the disc simply reacted to the Ranger Keys' presence, but now it's lying still, calm and seemingly peaceful, if not for the mournful sound that still echoes in Basco's mind. Perhaps music would help, maybe the Ranger Keys and the disc needed prompting; it certainly didn't hurt to try.

Basco brings his trumpet to his lips, drawing in a slow breath before playing out his usual simple tune, the one that would activate the Ranger Keys when they were placed within it. He plays it once through, then again a bit more slowly. The Ranger Keys tremble slightly, but nothing more, and Basco sighs, already feeling his patience wearing thin.

So he tries the shrill shriek of a note that he uses to try and forcefully gain Grand Powers, maybe it will draw the power out of the disc, force it to reveal its secrets to him. But after three steady blasts the only reaction he gets is the faint light within the disc shining just a little brighter, a little redder.

Basco almost throws his trumpet at the wall, managing to stop himself just a half second before it leaves his fingers. It wouldn't do him any good to ruin his most important tool, not matter how frustrated he is over the disc. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, drawing in a series of deep, and regretfully un-calming, breaths.

"What do you want from me?" Basco whispers into his palm, feeling suddenly weary, like he hasn't slept in days. "What do you need?"

After a moment of silence, but for Basco's unsteady breathing, something happens. The disc begins to tremble. Starts to rotate on its edge, like a spun coin that's winding down. But instead of winding down to rest, it seems to be winding up, spinning faster and faster until it's fully upright on its edge.

Then suddenly it stops. Sitting upright on its edge, its shining red surface facing him.

Suddenly Basco understands. Suddenly he just knows. And he brings the trumpet to his lips again, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he starts to play. Four simple notes, low and slow and even. The song the disc has been singing to him all along.

As he plays the disc begins to glow, brighter and stronger than before, a proper shine, sharp and red and strong. Basco can feel the disc's power growing, and as it does the Ranger Keys begin to tremble, begin to slide toward the disc across the floor.

Basco's hands start to tremble, and his tune almost falters, but he keeps going. Even as the light becomes so bright it's almost blinding. Even as he loses his precious Ranger Keys to that glow. He imagines - no, he _hears_ \- rolling thunder. As if it's in the distance, as if it's growing closer. The light begins to swim and swirl, gold and green joining with the red, building and growing. Stretching up from the floor to the ceiling. There's a crack like lightning, and despite it all Basco keeps playing. He feels compelled now, like he couldn't stop even if he tried. Another bright flash and the room is filled with swirling red feathers, great wings bursting out from the center of the still growing light.

Basco's playing grows to a crescendo, and there's something else now, another sound in the room. The song, given words, echoing all around him. He feels possessed, he feels exhilarated.

He feels terrified.

There's a burst, an explosion, and Basco feels his breath leave his lungs. Like he's drowning, like the room has opened up into the great void of space. He drops his trumpet and scrambles to his feet, backing up against the door.

The light fades, the feathers fall.

And where once was his beloved disc, where once sat his treasured Ranger Keys, stands a great armored beast of a man.  
His feathered wings filling the room.

 

 _"Eiji!"_


End file.
